


Schism

by Reiya_Inc



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst and Feels, M/M, Religious Conflict, Romance, Supernatural Elements, gratuitous use of literature
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 05:45:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reiya_Inc/pseuds/Reiya_Inc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are certain things you are unable to explain to another, some infinitesimal detail becomes lost in translation that ultimately detract from the larger picture. And Caboose knew this to be true because he could never quite find those missing words to tell Tucker exactly how he felt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Schism

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimers: All characters mentioned belong to Rooster Teeth. Otherwise, RvB would’ve basically been Queer as Folk, in space. The quotes are taken from Dante’s Divine Comedy as translated by S. Fowler Wright. 
> 
> I wasn’t a Tucker/Caboose shipper but that pairing grew on me suddenly and now I can’t get it out of my head. I wanted to write something with more depth and I apologize in advance for it being really bizarre. I might have accidentally ingested some crack.

The hall was dark, except for the hint of golden light that spilled out from under the second door on the left. Inside, a lamp was alight, dim but adequate as it illuminated the small room. Against the headboard leaned a man in his twenties, bronze skin and dark, unruly hair; he held a large dusty book between his palms. At the foot of the bed, sitting Indian style was a man with flaxen hair, younger and boyish in his excitement.

"Canto twenty two." The man with the book whispered.

"Wait!" The other quickly rearranged himself so that he was lying on his stomach, head resting in his hands, attention raptly fixed to the reader. "Okay, I'm ready, Tucker."

He cleared his throat and began.

" _Much have I seen of camps and moving men,_  
 _But not that escort of the demons ten_  
 _My mind compares. Not Campaldino saw_  
 _Such sight uncouth; nor any rout of war…_ "

His mind started to wander as he read aloud the familiar passages, retracing certain events and conversations. He came to the conclusion that maybe people are threads. Spun and twisted, tying together a person's lifeblood, connecting to all things. And maybe, throughout the course of one's life, they unravel, snaring on a sharp and unexpected edge, splitting open to the core. And maybe that's what was happening to him now. Because Tucker couldn't explain it otherwise, and denial was always the path of least resistance. Sometime during his stay in the canyon, he had managed to come undone, so utterly and indistinguishably.

_"Pageant or masque, grotesque or carnival,_   
_Mummery or tilt, can aught their like recall._   
_Nought in Italian lands, or lands afar,_   
_Nor barque by landfall steered, or leading star…"_

It happened imperceptibly; like walking down the stairs and being just a fraction-of-a-step off and then, all at once, you've lost you're footing and down you tumble. Caboose would say had it started with the readings. That day he'd discovered that Tucker had within his possession a book. So of course, Caboose wanted a bedtime story and was dismayed when Tucker refused.

" _Naught moves, on earth or wave or heavens of air,_  
 _Like those swart fiends, our chosen escort, were._  
 _'Who wills to church must there with saints consort:_  
 _Who seeks the tavern must with guzzlers sport.'_

_So runs the proverb. With these demons we  
Paced the black verge that ringed the dreadful sea…"_

It was too long, too difficult, and too poetic. Tucker used every excuse, but Caboose cajoled and begged and eventually he gave in because he  _did_  remember how nice it was to have a story read to you.

" _Yet little heed my mind allowed to know_  
 _Their various aspects vile. For seethed below_  
 _That lake of pitch where in burning heat_  
 _The unclean of hand received their payment meet…"_

And strangely enough, Tucker had a good narrative voice. Caboose couldn't put his finger on it, but there was something about his inflections and dramatic pauses, and that clipped way of speaking, that worked so well. He had many questions about the story, but sometimes, he didn't ask. Not that Tucker wouldn't answer them, he always did, but Caboose didn't want to interrupt.

XxXxXx

Tucker closed the book gently, aligning the spine, and stowed it away. Caboose had already moved up to his habitual side of the bed and was claiming more than his share of the sheets. Tucker watched with mild annoyance and then resignedly took his side of the bed, lying back to back with him.

He had learned the hard way that perhaps, some books did not make the best bedtime stories after a certain over-imaginative private had come tapping at his door, complaining of bad dreams. And Tucker had stoutly said no, but he was beginning to think that maybe in Caboose's head no meant 'Maybe' or 'Ask me again later' because it never worked. And he had given in because he was sick and tired of the uphill battle. He told him then that he could only stay for that night and had to be gone by dawn. Caboose agreed, as he agreed every following night too.

Rhythmic breaths slowed as Caboose fell into sleep, lulled and appeased. Tucker lay awake half the nights, feeling as if he were plummeting, like a meteor drawn in by an overwhelming gravity.  _But is the fall really that bad?_  He wondered, because somewhere along the line he had stopped telling Caboose to go back to his own room.

XxXxXx

The radio was on in the kitchen, playing the only station it picked up as Tucker took a seat at the table. It was some sort of mariachi music and all the songs sounded the same to him.

"Morning, Caboose." At first, it had been awkward for Tucker, waking to find a messy blonde crop of hair and smiling face in his personal space bubble. But over time it grew less alarming. He got used to Caboose shaking him awake and telling him it was time for breakfast. And then stumbling to the kitchen half asleep and eating with Caboose in his striped pajama pants.

"Morning, sleepy-head." The younger Spartan brought over two plates of eggs and bacon, arranged in a smiley face, and set one before him. Tucker smiled and took a bite, trying to recall the last time someone had cooked for him.

"Thanks, but you didn't have to make me breakfast…"

"I do not mind." Caboose munched on strip of bacon.

Tucker grabbed the carton of orange juice on the table, and gave it a good shake.

"Wait!" Caboose yelled a second too late. The cap wasn't screwed on properly and flew off. Orange juice splashed across Tucker's face and he froze. It dripped down his chin and Caboose let out a laugh; Tucker glaring at him.

"Sorry." Caboose reached forward, wiping a streak of juice away with his fingers. Tucker watched as the blonde man brought his hand back and licked it.

"Still good." Caboose grinned and Tucker shivered. He had that falling feeling again, almost like vertigo. Caboose saw Tucker watching him transfixed, and reached forward again, but the cyan Spartan quickly grabbed his wrist. There was a clouded look on Tucker's face and Caboose noticed that his right eye was slightly darker than his left; sepia and russet orbs that regarded him in confusion. He leaned forward and licked Tucker's cheek, tasting the sour-sweet citrus with his skin and Tucker couldn't quite formulate a thought as the rush ran straight to his brain, a primal drive that urged him to react.

"Caboose…" The word spilled from his lips like honey.

Turning his head so that they almost touched noses, he paused, an inferno in his blood. When Caboose didn't move, he drew closer, feeling the barest touch of lips against his own. It was a current was running through him, like the taste of fire-water. Tucker pulled back slowly, his uncertainty mirrored in Caboose's face.

The silence was deafening. Tucker stood and quickly left the kitchen, head reeling.  _I am losing my mind…_

XxXxXx

Tucker had hoped, in vain, that he wouldn't have to ever acknowledge the incident that took place that morning. That he could just tuck it away in some dark and cobwebbed corner of his mind and forget about it.  _No such luck…_  The team rookie spotted him in the hallway as he was heading to his room and approached warily.

"Tucker, I…ummm…" Blue eyes flickered between the tan face before him and the floor in apparent shame.

"Not out here." Tucker warned, glancing both ways down the hall before pulling him into his room. Caboose leaned back against the wall and looked at him, all blue eyes and parted lips. Tucker felt something familiar stirring in him.  _Desire_ , he realized. In his head, he had a list of things he was planning to say, but he couldn't seem to remember them anymore. _They weren't the truth anyway…_

"Tucker…" Caboose took a step towards him and touched his chest, right above his heart. And Tucker knew there was a myriad different things he  _should_  be doing, but he was crashing down again and couldn't stop. Couldn't stop because of the way Caboose was looking at him. Couldn't stop because those soft features and pink shaded cheeks were all too inviting. Tucker reached out and touched Caboose's bottom lip with his thumb.

"Do you know what this means?" He leaned in and placed a kiss where his thumb had been. He didn't want to force him into something he didn't comprehend. Caboose nodded, his skin blooming under the touch. The blonde man felt winded and wound up all at once as Tucker kissed him again. Caboose tangled his fingers in the dark hair and opened his lips. It was a pandora's box to Tucker, all consuming and releasing, enlivening every sense. He pushed Caboose against the wall, pressing into him with his whole body and digging his fingers into his collarbone hard enough to bruise. They broke apart and steadied their breathing, foreheads still touching.

Tucker licked his lips, "This has to be a secret, okay?"

"Okay." Caboose smirked, a devious sliver of thrill in his eyes.

XxXxXx

" _What time the swallow stirs to plaintive song,_  
 _Ere the dawn widens in the East, as though_  
 _She wakes to memory of her ancient woe…"_

At times, Tucker felt like he was thirteen years old again.

Like during meals, when Caboose would entwine his hand with Tucker's, beneath the cover of the kitchen table while Church unsuspectingly read his outdated newspaper. Or when he'd sneak off and act a damn fool all day with Caboose while they were supposed to be on patrol. These little unexpected things made him smile and realize that  _he'd_ become the most unexpected thing of all. Wonder of wonders, Tucker had found someone who he enjoyed being with and not for any superficial reasons, although Caboose probably didn't know how good he looked curled up asleep in Tucker's bed.

_"And when it seems our spirits least belong_   
_To earth, or bonds of human thought, but stray,_   
_Or follow guides divine pilgrim way…"_

There are certain things you are unable to explain to another, some minute details become lost in translation that ultimately detract from the larger picture. And Caboose knew this to be true because he could never quite find those missing words to tell Tucker exactly how he felt.

He awoke to the persistent beep of the alarm clock and the first stretch of the body alongside his. Caboose watched a tan forearm slip out from under the safety of the covers, swat the snooze button wearily, and then felt the shift as Tucker nestled closer. Caboose brought his hand up and let it roam down the expanse of Tucker's chest, gliding over the plains and valleys of his landscape.  _Are there words for things such as this?_

XxXxXx

"I always wanted to be an Earthling." Caboose told him one night, sprawled out on his bed, an arm dangling off the side. And Tucker laughed because when he was a kid he wanted to be an astronaut.

" _Why_?"

"They used to show us these vids about the rainy season in India and monkeys swinging in the Amazon, or lightening storms in Australia… things we never had in the colony. And they'd always be telling us about Earth, how amazing and weird it was. I didn't know why you'd ever want to leave and go live on the moon."

"I bet the moon wasn't that bad. Did you ever get to be weightless?"

"Yeah, there were sections of the colony that had no gravity where you could mess around. That was always fun. But you couldn't explore really, there were security locks everywhere and you were never allowed on the sunny side of the moon 'cause you'd fry up."

"You know, that explains a lot about you." Tucker crossed his arms behind his head, eyes half closed.

"Really?"

"As to why you're so fucked in the head… you're technically an alien." He was smiling as he said it,  _The things you learn about people…_

"…not an alien…" Caboose mumbled into the wrinkled sheets. Tucker playfully used him as a footrest as he opened the drawer on his bedside table and grabbed the book. He thumbed through it, looking for the paper marker.

"Where were we?"

"A little bit after he had found Beatrice again." Caboose pushed the legs off of him and inched forward on his elbows until he was flush with Tucker's hip.

"That's right," He turned another page and cleared his throat,

" _...While joyful I, and thus astounded, stood_  
 _My soul consuming the celestial food_  
 _Which makes more thirst the more it satisfies,_  
 _The emerald three came round me, in their eyes_  
 _And in their mien their high nobility,_  
 _Dancing to the angelic choir._  
 _'Return!'_  
 _They sang, 'Beatrice, oh return to him!_  
 _Thy faithful one, thy holy eyes, so far_  
 _His feet have journeyed of thy face to learn._  
 _Why doth thy veil thy mouth's sweet beauty bar?_  
 _Deign of thy grace this grace to us to deal._  
 _Why should he longer seek, and thou conceal?'"_

XxXxXx

Caboose watched him, watched the tan fingers trail down the spine, reverent as they glided over the fraying patch of duct tape at its corner before putting it back in the nightstand and turning off the lamp.

"Where did you get it?"

It had that ancient musty smell of an old good book and the illuminated words had long since faded from the hardback cover. But stained and worn as it was, it meant something great and wordless to him.

"My mom gave it to me for my birthday when I was fifteen. She told me that her father had given it to her and that it was one of the best stories ever written." Tucker looked up at the ceiling, the ghosts of his memories fleeting before his eyes, "I wanted a new board at the time, so I was really pissed off when all I got was an old book."

"You were?"

"Yeah, I didn't read it; I stuffed it in the back of my closet and forgot about it. I didn't understand why she always giving me books and shit I didn't want. I'd get so angry 'cause the other kids on the block would have the newest skates or video game or whatever and I never did. I didn't understand for a long time… She wanted something better for me. She didn't want me to have her life, a single parent working two jobs and scrapping by on food stamps. She wanted me to make something of myself and I wish… I just wish I had understood that a little sooner." His voice sounded scratchy in the dark, edged and sunken words pouring forth.

"…I think she knows." Caboose whispered to the darkness. It was quiet, and then he felt the press of Tucker's lips to the corner of his mouth.

XxXxXx

Nights later, Tucker dreamt that he was walking through a desert. White, burning sand swirled around his bare feet, biting with every step. The air pressed down on him like a tangible force, trying to push him to his knees. He squinted at the horizon, the desert stretched on for an eternity in each direction, flat and callous. The moon loomed above, red as wine and strewn with shadowed basins. From the sky it rained little flames, golden stars crashing down. They hit the sand and smoldered like coals, making tiny glass droplets. He felt the fire rain scorch the skin of his back, eating away at him like he was paper. The heat evaporated his sweat and cracked his flesh. He blistered and bled, over and again and was made into a wasteland. He walked on for days, years, centuries and did not find an end.

He awoke feeling light headed and sat up slowly. Caboose slept on, enraptured in his own subconscious. Tucker looked at the clock; it was almost time to get up anyway. Carefully, he left the bed and headed to the kitchen for a glass of water.

Church was sitting at the table in the corner, sipping from his coffee mug, when he entered.

"Hey." Tucker reached for a glass from the cabinet; Church didn't respond, "What's wrong?"

"Do you think I'm fucking retarded?"

"What are you talking about?" He turned on his heel, leaving the glass on the counter.

"Did you think that I'd never find out that you and Caboose are fuck buddies?"

Tucker felt his stomach fall to the floor.

"…I-it's not like t-that." He stammered, panic closing in around his ribcage.

"No? Then tell me what it's like." Church's expression didn't change; Dead black eyes set amidst a pale, unforgiving face.

"It's not-"

Church slammed his fist against the table, rattling his mug. His eyes narrowed, piercing and repulsed, "He's not right in the head, Tucker! Are you so much of a bastard that you don't _care_? Does he even  _understand_  what you're doing?"

"I don't fuck him, Church!" Tucker's lips pulled back into a snarl.

"Yeah, right. You've been looking for a place to stick it since day one."

"Stop talking like you fucking know me; you don't know shit, Church. You know nothing about it." Tucker looked away and whispered, "How can you think that I'd take advantage of him?"

"How would I know? I don't know  _you_." The words were poison in his mouth.

Tucker turned his back and left the kitchen. He needed to be somewhere else. He took the nearest exit from the base and kept walking. The half-hidden trail to the sniper's post was before him and he followed it. Rocks cut his bare feet as he climbed to the very top and sat down, hugging his knees to his chest. The sky was empty of any movement, save the leisurely drift of the clouds.  _It almost looks like…_ He closed his eyes and thought of the geese that nested in the park near his home. He pictured the black shadows blotting out the sun as they arose from the lake in a great feathered tide. A thousand beings danced in the air, so elegantly tangled, and emerged into formation. They faded into the grey clouds, guided south by some unknowable impulse. He was a long way from home.

"… _Of Increate Power infinite formed am I_  
 _That deathless as themselves I do not die._  
 _Justice divine has weighed: the doom is clear._  
 _All hope renounce, ye lost, who enter here…"_

The wind snatched the words from his throat and flung them over the canyon.

XxXxXx

Tucker didn't return to the base until dusk. He shuffled past the kitchen; he didn't feel like eating. The light was on in Caboose's room, so he knocked. A few seconds later he was greeted with a smiling face.

"Tucker, you have returned!"

"…yeah." He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. It was a small room with some scattered furniture, painted in the typical dull grey of the base. Caboose kept his room fairly clean, at least, more so than Tucker. Beside the dresser were pieces of his navy blue armor. Tucker looked at the visor, seeing his face warped in the reflection.

"Where did you go?"

"Nowhere, I just needed to think."

"About what?" Caboose cocked his head to the side and Tucker forced himself to look directly at him. Forced his eyes to study the contours of his face, mapping it in his mind.

"Caboose… we can't do this anymore…"

"What do you mean?" Eyes widened, forehead wrinkled.

"I can't have you staying the night in my room anymore. We can still be friends, but we can't… can't be anything more, okay?" The words were recalcitrant, and as he tore them from his throat he felt numb.

"I don't understand…"

"It's my fault for letting it go on like this…I knew better. But trust me, things will be a lot easier for you if we end this now."

"Why are you being like this, Tucker?" There was a disconnect in Caboose's mind, an unadulterated vein of dissent that made him refuse to accept what Tucker was saying, "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, Caboose, it's complicated. There are many reasons… You have to understand that this is wrong, we aren't supposed to-"

"I don't care, Tucker. I never did. I know you're only supposed to be this way with girls, but I don't care… because I like being with  _you_." He wanted so badly to say the right thing, whatever it was that would make Tucker stay. He tried to put into to words the breathless intensity he felt around him and the ache when he wasn't.

Tucker opened the door to the hallway and Caboose reached out to grab his arm. _If I could just make him understand…_

"I'm sorry."

Tucker turned away from him and Caboose's hand closed on the empty space between.

XxXxXx

"What the hell…"

Church peered through the scope of his sniper rifle at the incoming cargo plane. By the tail fin markings he knew it was from command, but it wasn't time for their bi-monthly supplies drop. He adjusted the sights to get a better view. Sure enough, the plane had opened the cargo hold and flung out a large wooden crate. The connected parachute filled with air and floated down with billowy ease. A loud 'thump' reverberated through the base as it landed. Church had already cut the parachute loose and kicked it off to the side by the time the other two blue inhabitants arrived. He read the attached letter and turned to the others.

"Let's get this inside."

Tucker took his place beside the other two, pushing against it with his shoulder. The wooden crate resisted them at every turn. "What the hell is this?"

"Supplies…" Church grunted, "…from command, with love."

The three forced it past the entrance of the base and slid it into the closest open area, the kitchen. The privates pried the lid off and cleared away the styrofoam orbs, staring in wonder at its contents for a brief moment, before diving in like hyenas to a rotting carcass.

Church and Tucker immediately went for the M249 Squad Automatic Weapon, staring each other down when their hands landed on its box simultaneously. They both gripped their respective ends, prepared to settle the dispute in a customary bout of tug-of-war, when Caboose swooped in and yanked it free from the two. They blinked in shock as Caboose hugged his prize triumphantly and all too happily lugged out the cartons of linked 5.56 rounds to accompany it. Church mumbled under his breath and returned to the crate, defeated, and half-heartedly selected the M4 Carbine and its attachment, the M320 grenade launcher module. Tucker dug past the containers of rounds, searching for whatever remained. At the bottom of the crate was a small object wrapped in cardboard, heavy and awkward as Tucker picked it up. He set it on the ground, amongst the scattered equipment, and peeled off the duct tape bindings. Underneath was a metal box, dials and knobs lined the front while plugs and cables were on the back.

"What is it?" Caboose peeked over his shoulder.

"979E CIR," Tucker read off the bold yellow letters printed on top, "Compact Interceptive Radio, Echo Series," He flipped through the instruction manual, "This thing's got a fully synthesized VHF receiver and demodulator that covers anything from the 60MHz to 2.4GHz range. It utilizes a digital IF and high performance signal processing algorithms, and even tracks suspect emissions and frequency hopping."

He smiled like a kid who just got a pony for Christmas. Church huffed, amused but not surprised that Tucker had an inner geek.

"Feel like doing some recon?"

"Oh, hell yeah. I'll set this baby up and we'll be able to hear everything the Reds are transmitting."

"You do that. Apparently, command wants us to get this war over and done with. So, go out and find  _something_  useful to report back, and I'll work on our plan of action." Church took the equipment list and left the kitchen.

Tucker opened the supply locker and grabbed a rucksack. He kneeled and loaded the CIR, along with the excess cables, into it.

"I'll go too." Caboose was popping bubble wrap between his fingers as he looked up at the other Spartan. Tucker hesitated, but Caboose stood up and slung the rucksack over his shoulders before he could say otherwise.

"Okay. Let's go."

XxXxXx

"This should be fine." Tucker peered out over the rocky outcropping at the red base. Behind him, Caboose shrugged off the rucksack, panting from the climb. Without a word, the teal soldier brushed away loose gravel and rocks from a patch of dirt and retrieved the CIR, setting it in the newly cleared area. He opened the manual and read a couple pages while Caboose leaned back against the cliff.

"Tucker…"

"Yes?"

"…why don't…" Caboose chewed his lip, as he watched Tucker continue reading.  _Why don't you talk to me anymore? Why do you have to be so cold…?_  A week had passed and barely a word had been said between them. It wasn't that Caboose didn't expect things to change, but that he didn't expect the change would be so great. There was the Tucker that he had known, who was patient and smiling and  _warm_. And then there was the Tucker who remote and formal and so painfully uninvolved. Caboose hadn't expected that, like turning on a light switch, Tucker had turned into that otherself.  _Am I so easy to cut out?_  It startled him because how could you ever say you knew someone like that? When they could change so suddenly? He had to make him understand this, but the things he thought never quite made it to his mouth and if they did, they were jumbled and distorted, unrecognizable.

"You don't… you don't have to be like this to me…"

XxXxXx

"What do you see?"

"Two Blues are on that ridge over there," Orange armor lowered the sniper rifle and turned to the maroon one next to him, "They've got a metal box or something."

"Good, we'll try out our new equipment." A steady click of boots as their superior walked up beside them.

" _Now?_ "

"Command wants this over and done with. So, yes  _now_ , dirtbag." He saw the flicker of hesitation in the two privates as they headed towards the crate.

"Grif…" He growled; The younger man stopped and looked back, "How badly do you want to go home?"

Unseen, but sensed, a mutual curling of lips and the red armor gleamed in the afternoon light, darker than blood.

XxXxXx

"…you don't have to act like…like…"

"We'll talk about this later, Caboose."

"No, we won't." He pushed off the wall and headed back down the slope, feet dragging like something wounded. Tucker glanced at his retreating form, and when it didn't stop he dropped the manual and followed after him.

"Caboose..."

He didn't slow, kept plodding forward until Tucker gripped his shoulder and spun him around.

"Wait a minute, okay?"

The gold visor nodded and Tucker released him.

"I don't mean to be an asshole…"

Blue eyes watched passively, shielded and searching.  _Maybe he isn't gone after all…_

"I didn't know how… The only way I know how to deal with shit when it doesn't work out, is to move on and forget about it… I didn't mean-" Tucker stopped, hairs rising on the back of his neck as he heard a high-pitch whistle scream through the air.  _Mortar_ , he thought, and a second later, _Fuck._

He grabbed a dark blue arm and yelled for him to run. They took off down the path, legs pounding against the soil in a frantic rhythm. Tucker wondered if they were far enough away, but he didn't think so and when projectile hurtled closer, dropping its pitch, Tucker tackled Caboose to the ground. The mortar round exploded on impact, sending a shockwave that Caboose felt ripple against his chest and shrapnel flying. A moment later, Tucker slid off of him and struggled to his feet. He touched his left side and grimaced; the glove came away red.

"Caboose… we gotta…gotta get outta here."

"Okay." Caboose watched the stain rolling down his armor. A stripe of carmine, growing, growing, growing…  _Church will know what to do…_

"Can you run?"

Tucker shook his head, his chest was burning and every breath spilled lava from his wound.

"I'm sorry." Caboose grabbed his arm, pulling him over his back in a fireman's carry. Tucker gritted his teeth as the younger man sprinted towards the base.

XxXxXx

"Fuck." Church was at the entrance, suited up and rifle loaded as Caboose ducked inside.

"Right here." The cobalt soldier directed him to the common room and swept the pool table clear. "What happened?"

Caboose was out of breath, gasping, "…mortar…hit and… Tucker…"

"Help me get his armor off."

They sat him up long enough to remove his helmet, chest and back plates. Church ripped off the black under armor and wiped away the blood that leaked from the split raw flesh. He removed his cobalt gloves and inspected the wound. It was against Tucker's left side, right up under his arm.  _Not good…_

"Caboose, go to the supply closet and get the first aid kit."

"Okay."

"Tucker, you're all right. This is nothing, man, you'll be fine."

Tucker nodded and closed his eyes, trying to be anywhere else. His mind drifted in and out as he thought of the ice skating rink he used to go as a kid and the hot chocolate they sold there, with tiny marshmallows in it. He thought about the time he had accidentally cut his hand on the blade of his skate and the lady vendor had bandaged it for him and gave him a cup for free. Caboose came crashing in, medical kit in tow and handed them off to Church. Digging through the sanitized the supplies, he pulled out the bottle of rubbing alcohol and doused the wound. Tucker barely felt the sting.

"There's a piece of shrapnel and its digging into your chest. I have to get it out, okay? It'll hurt, but I have to do this or it'll get worse."

Brown eyes stared in panic, breathing erratic, as Church picked up a pair of long silver tweezers and rinsed them in alcohol.  _No morphine? Fuuuuck._

"Caboose, hold him still."

"…wait…" Tucker wheezed but Caboose already had an arm fastened across his hip. He quickly grabbed his wrists and forced them above his head. Church wasted no time in jabbing into the open pink flesh. Tucker's whole left side screamed, muscles jerking as the pain flared white-hot and to the bone. He let out a choked howl as the tweezers clutched the jagged edge of the shrapnel.

"Keep him quiet!" Church hissed and Tucker wished so badly he could reach the man's throat.

Caboose released his hip and clamped that hand to his mouth. Tucker looked at him in fear, all dark eyes and angled shadows; he looked at him like he'd been betrayed. Leaning in close, Caboose whispered to him over and over that it was going to be okay, and Tucker cursed into the open palm. Church worked the shrapnel loose with one last tug, tearing the lacerated skin on the way out. Hands immediately released the writhing body beneath and blood dribbled out in a steady flow, bubbling with each labored breath. Tucker coughed, a dry hacking sound that filled the room, and then fell silent. Church frowned and bent close to the wound, hearing air flow through it. He stepped back, Tucker's skin blanched and the veins in his neck were distended.

"What's wrong?" Caboose leaned over Tucker, touching his cheek; he didn't move.

"His lung collapsed," Church plunged into the medical kit, frenzied, "And we need a Heimlich valve or…or a chest tube or we need…"  _Shit we don't have._

"Church, he's not breathing."

"I KNOW!"

"What do we do?"

"Motherfucking piece of shit." Church grabbed the kit and flung it against the wall, the contents scattered.

Caboose jumped and watched Church like he was a rattlesnake. He didn't understand why Church was yelling and his fingers still sought after Tucker's pulse, but he couldn't find it…

"Fuck. Fuck it all. " Church slumped down on the couch and took his helmet off; his black hair plastered to his forehead.

"Church… Tucker isn't-"

"It's too late."

Caboose shook his head.  _No, you said he would be okay. You said…you said…_  Something sunk inside of him, heavy like lead. It wasn't Church's fault, not at all. Tucker had shielded  _his_ body.  _I didn't want that… I never wanted him to…_

Church leaned back on the couch, "I couldn't fix it." Pale hands tinged with red, wiped his face.

XxXxXx

Later, when Church had recovered himself, he took a pail of water from the kitchen and a clean towel back to the room. Caboose was still there, like a watch dog, standing in the corner. He dipped the towel in the water and cleaned the grime from Tucker's face.

"I'll do it." The younger man offered, his voice hollow and restrained. Church handed him the towel, warm and soft under his touch. He ran the cloth across the jaw line and down the neck to the shoulders. Slow and methodical, he cleared away any trace of dirt and scrubbed the dried blood from the wound.

"I'll start digging out back." Church turned to leave.

"Why? Tucker will be back…"

"He's not coming back."

"But, you came back, Church."

"I know, but that doesn't happen to everyone, Caboose."

Caboose looked at him, eyes so perfectly round and open; his irises such a deep shade of blue that threatened to drown him out if he didn't look away. Church felt his insides twist.

"…when people die, they stay gone."

"ATTENTION BLUES," The radio in their helmets crackled, "WE ARE CURRENTLY ACCEPTING YOUR SURRENDER. APPROACH THE RED BASE UNARMED WITH YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR. FAILURE TO COMPLY WITHIN TWENTY FOUR HOURS WILL RESULT IN YOUR EXTERMINATION FROM BLOOD GULCH. END OF TRANSMISSION"

"What the fuck?"

"They took the CIR." Caboose murmured.

"Shit. From now on, we don't speak over the radio, only face to face." Church took off his helmet and disabled the radio inside, then he unsealed Caboose's and did the same. His peripherals wavered over the nearby body, "Let's go to the kitchen."

"But what about-"

"We'll deal with that later, right now we got to figure out a plan of attack."

Caboose was looking at Tucker, the smooth skin and closed eyes.

"Caboose, you want to get them back…" Church whispered. His voice raked the skin, eyes a black lacquer eclipse, "… _don't you?_ "

XxXxXx

After Church left for the night watch, Caboose slipped his notes into his pocket. He trusted Church, he really did, but he had to be sure…

Caboose headed for the room at the end of the hall. The door opened with a shrill creak; they had never gotten around to oiling the hinges. He hit the light; it flickered as he stepped inside. There wasn't any blood on the floor and all the medical equipment had been put away. The room looked  _almost_  like it did before…

He shuffled to the pool table and reached forward, hand hovering for a split second before it grasped the thin white sheet Church had laid out and drew it back. Blue eyes raked over the ashen face beneath him, so meticulous in their search for even the faintest spark of life, but there was nothing. Caboose pushed himself up onto the table and laid down on the stained green lining. He curled up against the unyielding body, lips so close to his ear that they almost touched.

"Tucker…" It was a breath, barely a sound, he said it quietly so no one else would hear, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm  _so_  sorry... I never wanted this to happen. I promise I'll be careful from now on… and I won't make any mistakes. I'll do whatever you say… so, can you please come back? Can you come back  _now_?"

He took a breath and waited. Caboose held it in, watching for any sign of a response. Tucker didn't stir, didn't breath, didn't speak. He felt his heart beating in his chest, faster and faster. It felt like it would burst, red and pulpy like a strawberry squeezed too tightly in your fist. It rattled and roared inside his ribcage, made him shake like he was hollow. And when he couldn't hold it any longer, when the ache made his stomach turn, he let it out painfully slow, and the burn ebbed away. His eyes stung and Caboose pushed his nose into the strands of brown hair. He smelled so different. The younger man placed his hand at the hollow of Tucker's throat and moved a finger slowly up the ridge of his adam's apple. It pushed forward in a perfectly straight line past the man's jaw and chin, grazing against the hint of bristles and coming to rest on the break of his lips.  _So pale…_ He pressed in, feeling the hard, smooth surface of teeth.  _So cold…_

Moisture gathered in the corner of his eyes and leaked out in hot streaks across his face that quickly cooled. Caboose rose up sluggish and silent. He wiped his nose on the back of his hand and dragged the sheet back over Tucker's body.

XxXxXx

"Ready?"

"Yeah."

There was no moon out at midnight. Stars observed the workings of the two blue Spartans below with neutrality. Obscured by the shadows, Church handed Caboose his rucksack in silence. The two parted, each in a separate direction. Caboose headed to the right, M249 in hand, as he followed the crudely drawn map of the canyon. Once he reached the first 'X', he dropped his rucksack and dug out a Claymore. He pushed the pegs into the ground, just like Church had showed him.  _Front towards enemy, Caboose._  Finished, he moved on and planted another fifty yards to its right.  _Do not fuck this up._  Church would be somewhere to his right, setting up his kill zone before he went to his sniper perch. Caboose pulled the trip wire taunt and hooked the remote detonator on his belt.  _Claymores, claymores in the ground, blood and guts to scatter 'round._ All he had to do was get back to the tank and give Church the signal…

Caboose froze, rooted to the ground. Behind him, the unmistakably whine of tires over loose gravel. He turned, seeing the headlights rapidly approaching and dashed for the canyon walls, hoping to hide in the shadows. The vehicle stopped at an angle, about a hundred yards off, and Caboose flattened himself against the wall.

The passenger jumped out and kneeled, holding a Javelin over his shoulder securely. The driver left his seat and loaded a round into the back.

"Got it?"

"Yes." He peered through the sights, "Fire in the hole."

The anti tank missile burst forth, red and screaming as it sought its target. A second later it struck, and the two Reds let out a whoop.

"Yeah, the tank's not going to be an issue."

"Not bad, Dex."

Caboose crept further along the wall, throat dry.  _What do I do?_  He had no way to contact Church. Impulsively, his finger reached for the trigger of the M249. He could try to gun them down here… that might work… or draw them to the claymores… those were a sure bet…

The two got back in the vehicle, started it up and turned around, heading back to the red base.

_NO NO NO NO NO!_

Caboose flicked the safety off and fired. The rounds tore through the back of the vehicle and it spun around. The driver flipped the brights on, removing his shadow-cover and sped forward.

_Come on…_

Caboose didn't let off the trigger as the gun cycled through the rounds on automatic.

_Fifty yards…_

A trail of bullets punctured the hood and shattered the windshield as the green vehicle roared towards him, undeterred.

_Thirty five…_

The passenger fired at him, nicking his armor. Caboose dropped his weapon and ripped the detonator off his belt. He pressed the red button.

_Ba-BOOM…_

The claymore ruptured, thunderously deafening and swift, firing steel shrapnel out in a graceful sixty degree arc. It ripped through the armor of the green vehicle and shredded the tires, flipping it forward. Caboose picked up his weapon and watched for any movement in the hull. There was none. He backtracked to the canyon wall and rested against it as he caught his breath. In the distance, Church's sniper rifle echoed out and Caboose began to move again.

The two remaining Reds had been waiting alongside the right face of the canyon wall, for the attack on the tank. They darted across to the wreckage, using it as cover as they alternated firing at the blue sniper. Caboose couldn't get a clear line of sight on them; the Blue base blocked him. He paused for a moment; there was no back up plan for this. He got as close as the shadows would let him, then he ran for the edge of the base. Red armor shot off a few rounds, they whizzed by his torso. He hit the wall and breathed a sigh of relief. The Reds had M4s with the M320 grenade launcher attachment as well.  _Just on the other side…_ Caboose snuck forward, following the curvature.

_Round the corner and…_  His enemy was waiting, and fired a blast from his shotgun. The pellets struck his hand as Caboose leapt back to cover. Pain seared up his arm and he bit his tongue, seeing the two severed fingers on the ground. The barrel of the M249 was too long; his enemy had seen it before Caboose had seen him. He dropped the weapon again and unclipped a grenade from his belt, wrenching the pin with the index finger of his injured hand. They stepped out from their shelter together. Blue armor pulled his hand back and hurtled the explosive at his opponent, Red armor aimed center mass and fired. A blinding throb…and then nothing.

XxXxXx

He came to, groggy and disoriented like he had just slept a long time in an awkward position, his eyes unfocused and dilated.  _Bright…_  He was lying on his back, flat against the soft dirt, arms stretched out on either side of him. The sky was so cloudless and clear, he never remembered it looking this way before. A gentle breeze caressed his face and blades of grass tickled his bare hands. Caboose rubbed his eyes and held his hand out in front of his face; it was whole again. The skin of his pinky and ring finger smooth and unblemished, as if they had never been injured at all. He breathed in deeply, felt the cool air run down his throat.

A shadow passed over him, and Caboose looked up to see familiar sepia-russet eyes and a flash of white teeth. A kaleidoscope questions burst in Caboose's head, flailing and fighting, and amid the chaos he could barely get out a word.

"T-tucker?"

The face laughed, bright and echoing.

"Don't look so surprised, you idiot." Tucker helped him to his feet and playfully rustled his hair.

"Did you come back?"

"No, Caboose. You left the old canyon and came here when you died. This place is…uhhhh…" he fumbled for the right words as Caboose wrinkled his forehead in confusion, "…it's like a rest stop before you move on."

Caboose looked at him carefully and then his face suddenly broke into a wide grin, his eyes as clear as the sky and twice as brilliant.

"Then…you waited for me?"

Tucker smiled, stunning and tender, letting his hand rest on the curve of Caboose's shoulder.

"You wouldn't let me go."

XxXxXx

" _Desire and resolution formed to press_  
 _My purpose, like an equal-rolling wheel,_  
 _This marveled revelation to express_  
 _In words that naught pervert, and naught conceal,_  
 _Urged by that Love by Whom all creatures are;_  
 _Who guides the sun, and every following star."_

XxXxXx


End file.
